Dear Arthur
by Shembre
Summary: "She would've made contact with me if it were too serious. Something would've been done. She must be on the path to recovery, and she'll be able to leave the hospital in a few days…" A story about Arthur and his family. No slash, and it's rated for some foul language. Complete.
1. Part I

**(Something that I started working on earlier this year, in between JBtS updates, and I hope you guys will enjoy it.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Nolan's awesome characters, but I enjoy writing about them.**

**Dear Arthur**

By Shembre

~ ~ * * * I * * * ~ ~

_ "Hello, you've reached Lisabette Miller. I'm sorry, but I've missed you at this time. Please leave your name and number, and I will return your call. Thank you."_

Traveling light with just his messenger bag, Arthur was able to bolt for the exit before any of the other, jet-lagged, airplane passengers could get in his way, as they fumbled slowly and obliviously with their bags stored in the overhead compartments of the cabin. He needed the fresh air desperately. He was fairly sure the balding, red-faced businessman sitting directly front of him had eaten something volatile— Arthur guessed it had been a hard boiled egg topped with ketchup and fish sauce. The woman who'd sat behind Arthur had spent most of the flight leaning over and flirting in a slurred voice with a much younger man, who'd been unlucky enough to be seated next to her. Arthur had listened closely when she'd mentioned something about a man in Russia proclaiming that he was close to perfecting time travel, but stopped when she started to sound more like the kid from "David After Dentist".

"Thank you for flying with us today, sir, I hope you enjoy your time in New York," one of the stewardesses stationed at the front of the cabin remarked with a toothy grin.

Arthur nodded to the woman, cellphone pressed to his cheek, and stepped off the plane and entered into the jet bridge. He felt his mouth curve downward, listening to the answering machine message. He'd called hours before and there had also been no one around to answer his call.

"Hey." He passed through the flight gate and entered the terminal. His plane had landed at a quarter to eight a.m. and the sun had barely made a dent in the lingering darkness in the sky outside. "I'm in town. I'm gonna make a couple stops before I head to the house. I need warmer clothes—it feels a lot colder than I thought it would be. Not used to it, I guess. I'll call again before I head over to see you…"

_It's strange… even this time of the day I usually get an answer by the third or fourth ring… I thought maybe she'd just slept through the ringing. Something's off._

He tried to shake the odd, uneasy feeling that he realized had him rushing through the terminal. He considered foregoing the trip to the bookstore that he'd planned, but told himself that he was being paranoid, and slowed down. He stopped outside of the bookstore and quickly glanced inside. He already knew what she would want to read.

"Talk to you soon," he added, finishing the message. "Love you."

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

_Damn, I wasn't being paranoid. Something is off._

It was now nine-thirty in the morning. The tips of his gloved fingers hurt where they pressed into the newest Alex Cross novel he'd bought for her. Arthur could feel the hairs rise at the back of his neck as he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles on the red surface of the front door before him. Behind him, the yard of the colonial style house was encased in a couple inches of fresh snow. The only traces of life were his footprints. He guessed her car was in her garage, though nowadays she only used it for grocery shopping.

_It can take an old woman a few minutes to climb out of bed and make it to the door… just give her time._

He leaned to the side and peeked into one of the windows, and held a hand to his brow to get a better look. Inside was dark and silent, and his breath fogged up the cold glass. Sighing, he wrapped his grey-and-white scarf tighter around his neck, and tucked the loose ends into the front of his light-weight, brown coat. He was never in New York long enough to bother investing in anything thicker, when layering was so much more convenient.

"Hey, excuse me, can I help you?"

Arthur straightened up and turned around. At the end of the sidewalk stood an older woman wearing a knit, purple cap over wavy, graying hair. Suspicion deepened the lines around her mouth. She had a red scarf tucked under her chin, and she was walking her very alert black lab.

He went to stand at the top of the three steps that led off the porch. Someone had to know what he'd missed. "Do you know if Ms. Miller is out of town?" When the woman's concerned frown deepened, he explained calmly, "This is my grandmother's house… But she doesn't seem to be home." He flexed his free hand, and tucked the new book under his arm. "I've called here three times. I've knocked on the door, and there's no answer."

The woman's eyes widened. Signaling to her dog with kissing sounds, she pulled the dog with her up the snow-hidden walkway towards the young man. "Is your name Arthur? Is that your car?" She gestured to the red, sporty car on the street.

He nodded. "Yes."

"I'm Dana. I live down the street." A relieved smile broke over her face. "You know, I've heard many nice things about you." She then sucked on her lips for a moment, the smile disappearing. "Dear, Lisabette's in the hospital. I've been picking up her mail and newspapers for the last few days, after Cheryl was dismissed."

The skin between Arthur's eyes pinched as he descended the steps. "Cheryl?" He shook his head.

Dana's shoulders fell. "Lisabette's caregiver. You didn't know, did you?"

"No. I didn't." He tried hard to keep his eyes up and focused on the woman. "My grandmother has always been very independent."

_Clearly…_

"Well… an ambulance took her away a couple weeks ago. She was having trouble breathing, and the last time we visited, she had a pretty bad cough. I'm sorry, Arthur."

He reminded himself to breathe. "She's…?"

Dana shook her head. "She's still alive."

Arthur stood and listened as she told him the name of the hospital where his grandmother was staying. Extending a hand, he thanked Lisa for telling him what had happened.

"You see that green house down the street? If you need anything, Arthur, you know where to find me." Dana patted her dog on the head. Her cheeks and nose were pink, and her eyes shined.

He felt his face flush. "Thank you, I do appreciate it."

Dana wished him all the best and moved on with her dog, allowing him to walk through the snowy yard to his vehicle. He didn't bother shaking the snow off his boots, but cranked up the car heat and blew on his numb hands. He put the book in the passenger's seat.

_She didn't want me to be worried, that's why I didn't know. I do the same thing…_

Arthur felt guilty. In the nearly nineteen months since the inception job on Fischer, he'd pulled six, much smaller jobs. The last job had ended roughly seven weeks before. He'd stayed away for her own safety, and had only allowed himself to stop in for a couple days during the springtime, a year after the inception and the botched Cobol job. He'd skipped the previous two Thanksgivings and the last Christmas season entirely.

_She would have made contact with me somehow if it were too serious,_ he tried to reason with himself. _Something would have been done. She must be on the path to recovery, and she'll be able to leave in a few days…_

The skin under the collar of his shirt burned, and he tore off the scarf and dropped it over top of the book already resting there. Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he quickly dug it out.

_It's her! It's—"_

"Fucking Eames…" he muttered, recognizing the forger's most recent phone number. What did he want? His throat constricting as he swallowed anxiously, Arthur waited for the call to go directly to voicemail, long enough for a message to be left, before he turned off the phone.

Shifting into drive, his car slipped away from the curb and into the slushy roadway. It would take him a good hour to get out of the suburbs and to the hospital—if traffic permitted.

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

"She's your maternal grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Any other relatives you wish to contact about the situation?"

"No. Uh… She's the last of her family, and her husband died a few years back, and their only child was my mother. She's gone, too."

Outside the hospital room, Arthur could see her through the little rectangular window. In the bed, she was lying on her back, eyes closed. She had an oxygen tube that snaked across both pale cheeks and under her nose. Short, white, wavy hair radiated out from her wearied face. Her frail hands—dwarfed by an I.V. and an over-bearing heart monitor pinched onto an index finger—were clasped over the dark pink blanket across her chest. Her elbows were out to her sides. She did not look like a woman who was going to get better anytime soon.

"Your grandmother came here with a severe case of the flu, which she had sought treatment for previously, and had been slowly improving," a male doctor in teal scrubs and a white coat told Arthur, "but as of late her state of health has declined, and we fear that her lungs are becoming quite damaged."

Arthur frowned. He'd been pulled out into the hallway to hear what the doctor had to say. "Well, what's that mean?" he asked quietly. "And please, don't bullshit me." He swallowed. "Does she have a future?"

"No, she probably does not have much longer to live."

Arthur's rested a hand over his mouth and jaw, and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"You'll want to say your good-byes…" the doctor added.

Arthur glanced again through the little window into the plain hospital room. He'd never felt so useless.

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

"Cobb… I can't."

A heavy silence grew out of those three short words, like the pressure a person feels in his stomach before he vomits—wanting to keep it all down, but his will is no match for his bodily reflexes.

_"Arthur, you've never turned down a job…"_

He blinked slowly. _How much did I give away by declining a job? By opening my mouth? He didn't bother asking why I can't commit._

_ "Arthur?"_

"No," the point man acknowledged flatly. "I have never turned down a job."

It was around eight a.m., and Arthur had spent two entire nights at the hospital. He'd only gotten to his apartment five minutes before, and hadn't troubled himself to turn on a light, painting the plain walls and simple furniture in hazy tones of gray. Beyond the frosted window of his sparse apartment, more snow was falling. The city was reduced to white and gray organic shapes that blended in with one another. Misty clouds hung low over the higher rooftops, and tall, dark buildings in the distance looked ominous and formless. Arthur stood at an angle so that he wouldn't catch his frowning, stubbled reflection in the glass.

_"Eames said you're ignoring his calls. Took me a couple tries myself to get a hold of you. I heard you and him butted heads the last time you worked together."_ Cobb gave a weak chuckle before he added lowly, _"Not surprising… He told me to make sure you weren't missing or dead. Apparently, you've never snubbed him so ruthlessly."_

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his over-strained, itchy eyes. He muttered, "This isn't about us 'butting heads', if that's what you're getting at."

Eames was collecting teammates, without Cobb, who had been safe at home with his kids since the inception. From what Cobb had described, it would be an easy job for the forger. He was employing Ariadne as his architect. Due to finals right before the holidays, Ariadne would work from Paris and would have her plans ready in time to practice en route. She would stay out of the field, though Arthur knew it was only because she already had enough on her plate. Eames had other people he could call to watch his back, though they'd lack the familiarity the forger had grown accustomed to after half a decade of working with Cobb and Arthur— complimentary harassment included.

_"Oh. Well… Everything…? Your voice— How are you?"_

Arthur scratched the side of his rough jaw with his fingernails, knowing how worthless it probably was to lie. To lie at that point would be a poor choice, and it would only serve to raise the older man's suspicions. _Arthur, the point man…_ _well, he's supposed to be calm and collected, resourceful._ If anything, he lacked the energy to make the attempt to lie to Cobb.

_"Arthur?"_

He could tell Cobb was growing impatient. Stiffly, he sat down on the arm of one of his couches. "I'm watching Lisabette." He hadn't expected his voice to crack, ever so slightly, and he tried to swallow down the swelling lump in his throat. "It's not good… I came home, and I haven't kept in touch."

A sympathy-saturated sigh oozed over the phone line. _"Oh… I see."_

Immediately, Arthur's shoulders tensed. "Cobb. Make something up to tell to Eames. I don't have time for him." The forger didn't need to know about his family life.

Soon he wouldn't have much of one…

Arthur was staring sightlessly out the window again when Cobb, the family man, spoke his name twice. He realized sadly that a resentful pang of jealousy had risen up in his chest when he finally responded to his friend with a stunned, "Huh?"

_"I said, care if I send flowers?"_

The point man thought it over, standing up again and navigating through the dark to his cold bedroom in the back of the apartment. He paused in the doorway a moment. "She likes roses of any color." Telling Cobb the hospital address and room number, he fought hard to keep his voice calm, but that only made things worse. This wasn't going well at all.

_"That woman is wonderful. I know you owe your grandmother a lot."_

"I know."

_"Now, I thought I was pushing my luck with the flowers… You… probably don't want company. It's only an offer."_

Now standing in front of his closet, Arthur shook his head grimly before he remembered how Cobb was merely a phone gripped in his fist, compressed to his ear. "I'm fine," was all he was able to spit out. All he could get out.

_"Understood."_ Cobb was quiet a second. _"But, if you do need—"_

"I'll call," Arthur forced himself to say, feeling awkward. "I don't know when." The closet was open and he was digging for something clean and warm. Most of his clothes were still in his messenger bag, which was sprawled out like a corpse on the floor in front of his hamper. He tried to tug a sweater off its hanger with his free hand, but successfully ended up knocking it and a couple ties onto the wood floor. "Shit…" he hissed.

_"Okay, Arthur, send my regards…"_ Cobb replied in a level tone.

"Bye, Cobb."

He ended the call quickly with a sigh, scooping up his clothes. He tossed the phone and the navy blue sweater and a striped dress shirt toward the bed in the middle of the room, before carefully replacing the two ties back on the hanger where they belonged with the others.

_Sorry, Cobb. Priority number one is getting cleaned up before getting back to that hospital. There's no time to feel guilty about acting like an asshole. It isn't like I'm the one who's dying. _I _have time later to apologize._

He had to get back there. Fear and frustration wound up his guts, and as he moved unfocusedly around the apartment, he could feel his hands as they clenched and unclenched. He hated feeling afraid that something might happen while he wasn't at her side.

Within fifteen minutes he had showered, shaved, and was pulling on his brown coat, keys clenched in his fist. Right before stepping out the door, he pulled a small, red die from his pants pocket. Absently, he ran the hard cube across the tips of his fingers. He didn't need to roll the totem. He wanted to pitch it across the apartment and through one of the windows.

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~


	2. Part II

**(Enjoy!)**

~ ~ * * * II * * * ~ ~

"Arthur? Arthur," a soft voice asks, "I made macaroni and cheese for lunch. Would you like some?"

"No… I'm not hungry, Grandma."

He doesn't see her, but he hears her footsteps as she crosses the floor from the doorway of his quiet room to the side of his bed. The mattress buckles slightly under her weight, and she rests a warm hand on his temple, petting his dark hair.

"Arthur," she croons.

He's still in the dress shirt that he wore to the funeral, but made sure to loosen the tie and unbutton the top two buttons. His hands are tucked under the damp pillow his head rests on, and his legs are curled up in front of him.

"Arthur, please come and eat something."

She wipes away the streaks on his exposed cheek and nose. Her fingers press lightly into his cheekbone.

"What if I brought you some crackers, Arthur? Would you eat them? And some water, too?"

He thinks about it, and then feels himself nod. "That'd be okay, I guess…"

She bends over him to kiss his temple before her weight disappears from the bed. The sudden withdrawal of her body's warmth and shifting from the now static mattress is jarring, and he can't help the small whimper that escapes his throat.

"Arthur?"

Some of the words don't come out completely when he wants to say, "I miss Mom."

"Arthur, it's going to be okay, you'll see," she tells him. "Your mother was very brave, and now she's in a better place."

"Why couldn't she beat her cancer?"

She pauses, and he lets out a sigh of relief when she sits on the bed again. "You know I can't answer that, Arthur," she tells him. "It's complicated, why some people get it and others don't, why some people respond to treatment better than others."

"Grandpa beat his."

"Yes, he did," she says, stroking his shoulder. "Arthur, I wish I could give you a better answer, but I just don't know. Doctors are human, too, and medicine isn't magic."

He sighs through his teeth. "I know…"

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

Arthur's head snapped up when he heard the shuffle of footsteps. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked across the sterile hospital room to the open doorway, listening for the methodical beep of machinery. He was sitting down in a chair that was up against a wall. His ears picked up a rattling sound, and he quickly realized it was his grandmother's ragged breathing.

"Hello, are you doing okay?"

A flower-scrubbed nurse was picking up a barely touched tray of food, which he'd left on the counter by the sink, next to the purple vase of Cobb's pink roses that had shown up the day before. The dozen more, sad flower arrangements clustered around it had all seen better days.

Arthur nodded, feeling a kink in his neck. "Yes, I'm fine."

The lady, probably in her early fifties, had medium-length, blond hair. She smiled at him over her shoulder as she departed, probably amused by his disturbed, half-asleep expression. Unable to smile back, Arthur couldn't stop thinking about how the woman reminded him too much of his grandmother at that age…

They feared she would soon become comatose— slipping under the surface of consciousness to a place where even the stupidest dreamer would think twice about following. For the time being, she looked like she was resting peacefully, though that rasping, strained sound of her breathing made his chest ache.

He leaned forward with his forearms resting along the tops of his legs, hands clasped together just past the knees. The back of his head smarted from resting it against the hard wall behind his seat. Sweeping his tongue over his teeth, Arthur tried to erase the ugly taste of his dinner— a bite of meatloaf, a spoonful of discolored vegetables, and a cup of lime Jell-O. He was glad it was staying down. He'd tried their coffee, and it had been tolerable. Or at least tolerable in the sense that it hadn't quite tasted all the way like dirt. He wasn't sure if the food at a five star restaurant would even taste acceptable to him, but some food was better than none.

He twisted his wrist. It was nearly nine, and he was allowed to stay there in the room with her for another hour., when he'd have to retreat into a far less comfortable waiting room.

The hospital room was dim and deceivingly peaceful. The inside of his nose burned as he breathed in air so sterilized that it felt harmful to breathe. It was chilly in the room, but he had been using his coat as a neck rest. He rolled down the rumpled sleeves of his shirt, redid the buttons, before pulling his navy sweater down to his wrists as well. The methodical beep of the machinery his grandmother Lisabette was hooked up to was deafening now. He'd heard it in his sleep— both a comfort and an unhappy intrusion. For the moment, he gladly accepted the fact that he did not dream anymore. There was too much time to think as it was. Outside the room, there was the occasional scuttle of rushed footsteps and a few muffled conversations between doctors and nurses. Arthur had turned the TV on to distract himself. Reaching for the remote on the table beside the hospital bed, he switched it off.

Draping his winter coat over the black arm of the hospital chair, he did his best to quietly scoot his seat closer to the hospital bed. He laid his hand over her hands, lightly cradling her fingers. Her thin, speckled skin was soft and warm, and even then he could feel the strength within them.

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

They speak in hushed voices. It's early morning, and the last time his grandmother checked, he was still asleep. If he were to blow his cover and peek around the corner of the wall into the foyer, he'd see his grandmother standing just inside the doorway with a dark-haired man who has been restricted to the porch. He hears the man's voice, and knows he's heard it before, but hasn't heard it for a long time.

"When I heard Sarah died—"

"That was over a year ago. Why now?"

"I did not know. I only just figured it out. I've been… just… Can I see my son?"

"A man who deserts his wife and his four-year-old has no son. Nobody has heard from _you_ in almost five _years_."

"Lisabette, I know what I did was hardly acceptable—"

"I'm Arthur's protector now, and there is no point in you trying to make contact with him. The damage has been done—you can't just pick up where you left off."

"I had to leave."

"Why? Where?"

There's a pause. "I can't tell you."

"I didn't want to know anyway."

"I'm sorry, Lisabette."

Arthur's curiosity gets the better of him, and he carefully looks around the wall with one eye.

"Well, give Arthur this, for me, at least?"

Grandma Lisabette takes a white envelope from the dark-haired man and her head tips down to look at it. She's short enough that the man can look over her shoulder, and his mouth drops open slightly, but he says nothing. Arthur knows his father is trying to be discreet when he quickly averts his brown eyes again before Grandma Lisbette can notice.

"I won't promise that I will give it to him. Now please. Get off my property. The next time you come here, it will be my husband who speaks with you."

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

The room had grown darker, he thought. Arthur had been struggling to keep his eyes open when the same blonde nurse from before snuck up on him and nudged his shoulder. He jumped and turned his head exhaustedly to look up at her.

"Sir, your visiting hours are over in ten minutes," she said softly, her gaze full of concern as she stepped back.

He rubbed his face and nodded. "Yeah, okay." He paused, uncertain. "Um… could I have an extra five minutes?"

The nurse looked uncertainly at his grandmother. "Well… we're not supposed to…"

Arthur knew he was pushing his luck. In the saddest voice that he could muster, though it wasn't very hard to do so, he whispered, "Please? It's just five more minutes. Tops. You've seen her charts, haven't you? She might not… be here in the morning."

Inwardly, he recoiled at his words.

The nurse nibbled on her lip. "Okay… But when I come back, you need to leave," she told him warily. "There are visiting hours for a reason. She needs her rest."

"Yes, of course." Arthur forced a tiny, but grateful smile. "Thanks."

When the nurse left, he heaved a sigh and resumed his watch, one hand still stretched out over Grandma Lisabette's. He shifted his weight in the uncomfortable chair.

Then, his eyes started to mist, unbidden.

"C'mon, wake up…" He whispered hoarsely. "You've held on for this long, you stubborn woman…" A pause. "Are you listening? Were you waiting for me? Is that it? I'm sorry I... I haven't been around lately. I didn't know you were so sick. I'm sorry, that I wasn't there when Grandpa died. I let work come first, but it wasn't safe for me to see you sooner… I know you hate what I do, and you don't even know the half of it, and I'm sorry for making you worry… Maybe you'd worry less if you knew more, and if I didn't lie and give you so many vague answers for your own protection. I know you'd deny that you don't worry about me, but I know you do. But you've always understood that anything else would be mundane… and if I was gonna change.. I would've done it years ago."

Having the nurse return and find him weeping wasn't an option, but it was too painful to hold back anymore. He couldn't resist dirtying the cuff of his sweater like a little kid with a snotty nose.

"If you can hear me... I appreciate everything that you did for me..."

He shoved the heel of his free hand into one of his eyes to swipe away the tears, but by the time he moved onto the other side of his face, more tears were dribbling down his damp cheek and off his chin. He forced himself to not look at his watch since he knew time was slipping through his fingers like water through a sieve. He focused on her hands. His leg bounced up and down restlessly.

"Grandma, I wish we could have more time together... but you're dying... "

"Ar...ur… don't…"

His puffy eyes snapped to his grandmother's pale face, and he held his breath. Her whisper was so low he'd barely noticed it. Her eyes were open a sliver, but her face was tilted towards his.

"Arthur, don't cry…"

Miserably, squeezing her hands, he said, "A nurse is coming back to kick me out. It's nearly ten PM."

"It's… It's okay." She tried to smile. Her voice was quiet and raspy. "We have time enough." She moved one of her hands so that she sandwiched her grandson's between hers, the bulky heart monitor clip resting on his wrist.

The crease between his eyes deepened.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?" He felt his heart stutter, and the flushed skin around his neck throbbed. His spine hurt.

"Arthur, I want you to be okay with this," she said gently. "Do you… have friends you can talk to?"

He nodded, whispering, "One or two…"

One of her brows lifted a little.

He shifted in his seat like a guilty hoodlum. "Dominick Cobb knows… you met him once… He sent you roses."

She nodded slowly. "That's a start... You've turned into a wonderful young man… So thoughtful... Don't shut out the world." Her grip tightened around his hand. "It has a lot to offer you."

He tried to smirk. "That's an understatement."

Her eyes darkened slightly. "Be careful."

Arthur nodded. "I am."

She seemed to roll her eyes. "Promise me you'll… take more time for yourself?"

"Grandma, I…"

"You work too much..."

Just then, Arthur heard the nurse slip back in. When she saw that her patient was awake, she looked mortified. "Sir…" she said awkwardly, "It's five after… You can't stay in here with your grandmother. I'm sorry."

_I don't wanna hear another "I'm sorry" for as long as I live…_

He opened his mouth in protest again when his hand was given a good squeeze, and then released.

"Arthur," Grandma Lisabette began firmly, "Why don't you move those fresh roses onto the side table… and go home to a real bed. Stay away from the waiting room. You must look worse than me."

He felt himself stand up, dazed, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. In order to hurry him along, the nurse picked up and put his chair back next to the wall where it belonged. After handing his coat over, she then told him she'd be waiting outside the door and would be back in a couple minutes after she spoke with Lisabette's doctor.

Arthur pulled on his coat. "I can come back at eight tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you anything?" He gestured to the untouched book on the side table. "Did you see I brought you a book?"

"Yes, I did see." She tried to lift her arms, but was too tired.

He bent forward to hug her. It was difficult to get his arms around a woman who was so delicate and lying in a bed. The medical tubes and wires further complicated things.

"You'll be okay, Arthur," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "I love you."

He could feel the warmth of her breath. "Love you."

"Stay safe," she told him. The longer she talked, the stronger her voice became. "Go find yourself a nice wife… Someone to take care of you so… so you don't have to take care of yourself so much." She kissed his cheek. "You'll find a way."

His heart felt like it had been replaced by a brick, and his lip quivered, and his face flushed with embarrassment and grief. "Okay, Grandma." If he hadn't needed time to compose himself- instead of having the nurse, as nice as she was, come barging back in again- he would've lingered longer in her embrace. He sluggishly pulled away, patting her hands gently as they fell back over her stomach, and quickly rubbed his face. "Now…" He straightened his coat. "I'll be here tomorrow, in the morning." He heard the caution in his voice, the underlying tone of warning. "Maybe I can read the book to you."

"Sounds nice." She nodded, smiling. "Go get a good night's rest, please."

As she'd requested, he moved the purple vase of flowers over to the side table. She was studying the fine arrangement sleepily as he stood at the foot of her bed.

"Good-night, Grandma," he said quietly, hands in his pockets. He was already bracing himself for the winter weather outside.

"Good-night, Arthur." Her white hair radiated out from behind her head on the pillow.

The image made him cringe as he turned away.

_She's gonna be there when I come back. She will be. She won't slip away in the night._

Arthur had known… deep down…

He'd just been unable to make himself physically spit out the word 'bye' instead of 'night'. Saying 'night' meant that there was still hope...

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

Although the phone had felt like dead weight in his hand, Arthur made sure to call Cobb to let him know that_ it_ had happened- because she would have wanted him to call, and because Cobb would've found out whether Arthur told him or not. He'd already promised Cobb he would call. Out of courtesy, Arthur invited his friend to her service, keeping the call otherwise short. There was no reason to go into detail. Arthur made sure he was shaved and presentable, his apartment tidy, before he picked Cobb up at the airport a week later. The service was the following afternoon, three weeks before New Year's. There was little talk between them that afternoon, evening, and morning; just sitting around the apartment, staring at the TV in awkward silence. Arthur didn't pay much attention to what was on the screen, and dozed off and on. He had exhausted most of his energy dealing with the hospital and making funeral arrangements.

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

A friendly, round face was in front of him, and her lips were moving, but he only caught a few words. Soon the woman and her husband moved on, and there are more faces. Arthur thought he saw Dana, the neighbor woman with the black lab, but he wasn't sure.

Word of Lisabette Miller's death had spread quickly. Some of them offered shoulder pats and hugs. Others handed him cards, or brought food to the wake at the funeral home.

He'd given a speech, but remembered nothing about it. Cobb said it was good, but Arthur knew he was lying.

She'd had many lovely friends, each one kinder than the last. Arthur had only met a few of her closer friends beforehand, the ones who he'd known since he had been small, but they all knew about her favorite grandson. He strained to listen to everything that they had to say—He was sure they were all very pleasant words and memories—but all he could focus on was smiling politely, shaking their hands, and thanking them for coming. He didn't want to lose it with Cobb around. The familiar numbness that grieving usually brought hadn't kicked in just yet.

Her friends mentioned something about dropping off hot food for him that evening at his apartment— lukewarm leftovers from the wake would not do. He thought there would be no harm in it. By the time he'd thanked them all for coming, it was half-past four.

Cobb had gone ahead of him and had already swept the snow off the windows of his red car. The guests from the funeral and wake had already cleared out, leaving behind their tire tracks.

"Arthur."

He fumbled with his car keys, hesitating to look up at Cobb.

Shivering, Cobb stood on the passenger side of the car, staring concernedly over the roof at him. Cobb's breath frosted around his jaw. They were both dressed in dark dress coats and slacks.

Arthur unlocked the doors and slid behind the steering wheel before kicking the snow off his black dress boots. It was too bone-chillingly cold to stand outside for long. The car came to life and he cranked the heat as high as it would go. His eyes ached. Switching off the radio, Arthur kept his eyes forward and waited for Cobb to speak.

"Fly back with me when I go back home on Sunday. Before all the families start to travel and security and the weather become impossible. There's a break coming this weekend."

He glanced at Cobb.

_I need to meet with people, do a mountain of paperwork. I wanna get past this. Then I need to figure out what to do with her house… It will sell for a good price, come spring, but that feels wrong. It's too beautiful, even if the danger of staying too long in one place prevents me from enjoying it. I barely use the apartment that I've got now— there's even a false alias on the lease. Cobb may be retired, but it's unlikely that I will be anytime soon._

"The kids would be excited to have you for Christmas," Cobb pressed on, trying on a sympathetic smile. "When they heard I was coming here, Arthur, they were _very_ jealous."

"Really."

Cobb's head bobbed out of the corner of his eye. "Miles is coming, too."

"You're bribing me with little kids and your father-in-law?" Arthur tried to suppress a sardonic smirk, but failed.

Any hint of humor disappeared from Cobb's demeanor. "Bribe is a strong word. Is it your plan to sit alone in your dark apartment on Christmas, biding your time until you feel like working again? You could use a break."

Arthur realized his hands were gripping the steering wheel, holding onto it as if it were a life preserver. Through his black gloves, he felt the hot air blowing over his knuckles. Normally, when he wasn't away for work and it was safe to do so, he spent the holidays with Grandma Lisabette. There was nobody else…

_"Don't shut out the world. It has a lot to offer you…"_

"Cobb, the kids… They don't need to see me moping around your house."

"I'll lie and say you have food poisoning," Cobb replied stubbornly. "You can board yourself up in the spare bedroom until New Year's if you want."

"I have so much to do for her—"

"Well, I have a fax machine and internet. What we don't accomplish before Sunday and what you cannot fax, I think can, quite frankly, be put off. Everybody has family, decorations, and presents on the brain," he reasoned. "They'll be glad to have a little less to do."

Listlessly, Arthur stretched the seat belt over his lap and chest. While Cobb did the same, the younger man backed out of the funeral home parking lot and started the tedious drive back to his so-called dark apartment. Arthur had to use his full, exhausted concentration to keep the car on the road.

Arthur thought he heard Cobb murmur something like, "Goddammit, Arthur, don't shut down."

Grudgingly, Arthur muttered back, "I know…"

"Then why fight me on this?"

"I don't know…" he lied. Part of him really did wish to go, but he truly desired to grieve in peace, at least for a while. _If it were any other time of the year, I'd be allowed to._

_Stupid holidays…_

By then, he'd pulled into the first shoveled parking spot that was within walking distance of the apartment, eager to be out of the enclosed space. Dusk was falling quickly. Arthur turned off the car and started to reach for the door handle when he heard a dull _thud_ resound through the car. He yanked on the handle to make sure.

Cobb had locked him in from his side of the car.

Arthur turned to him, frustrated. "Cobb, seriously...? What are you doing? I'm not a little kid."

The point man tried to unlock the door manually, but Cobb just did it again.

"Knock it off. I'm not in the mood."

"No," Cobb replied coolly, starting the ridiculous game over again. "You're better than this. She'd want better for you."

Arthur scowled. "Open. This. Door."

"Sunday's a long way away, even for you. You'll definitely need food or sleep. You already don't have the energy."

"That a threat?"

Dom Cobb glared back at him. "Yes."

Arthur knew he was serious, and he wasn't surprised. He scowled harder.

Then Cobb's face softened, brows arched over anxious blue eyes. "Can't you just humor me?"

Arthur's jaw locked. The heat in the cab was already starting to leach out through the metal hull of the car. Outside, a stiff breeze blew snowflakes onto the windshield. He regretted being carelessly impatient and parking so far away.

"Humor me," Cobb repeated.

Letting his hands fall away from the door, Arthur fiddled with the car keys on his lap. _There's no way out, other than to keep telling him 'no', and sitting in this car until we freeze to death. We're both stubborn assholes like that. And what does "You'll definitely need food or sleep" mean?_

Arthur almost _wanted_ to see if Cobb would make good on his threat to, possibly drug, and then kidnap the point man… _or something_… He wasn't sure, though, how Cobb thought he'd be able to get an unconscious man through an airport, if that were indeed his plan. Maybe he'd pull some _Weekend at Bernie's _act with a wheelchair. Even getting Arthur into a private helicopter on a high-rise building would be quite an effort.

To his surprise, Arthur couldn't help but grin at _that_, which made Cobb look at him strangely_._

"What?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Fine… I'll come…"

The doors unlocked. "You're not just saying that?"

Arthur shook his head honestly. "No. I'll go, save you the trouble- but I'm barricading myself in your spare bedroom."

"Well, I hope you'll do more than that." They started to prepare ourselves for the nasty weather outside. "The kids still need a tree."

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

The two men jogged the three blocks to the apartment. Arthur noticed very few others were braving the weather. Panting, they stamped the snow off their shoes before entering Arthur's building and taking an elevator up to the tenth-floor. The elevator rising, Arthur stood there, thinking, and staring back at his blurred reflection in the mirrored walls. Soft Christmas music played in the background.

Cobb was concentrating on swatting the snow off his pants. He balanced against the horizontal railing, one foot lifted in the air.

Arthur could tell he was still out of breath.

"Hey, uh…" Arthur began, just as the elevator _pinged_ cheerfully and the doors opened. He waited a moment and glanced at Cobb. He fingered his door keys in his coat pocket. "What was that about my lack of energy?"

"Huh?" Cobb mumbled. "What was what?"

Arthur slapped the button pad on the elevator and took off towards his apartment at the end of the hallway.

"Hey! Arthur! Fu—"

Behind him, he heard a string of curses as Cobb fought to keep the elevator doors from closing.

The point man had just slid the deadbolt into place when Cobb's body slammed against the door.

_"Arthur,"_ he called.

He could hear the nervousness in the older man's voice.

Cobb attacked the doorknob and hammered on the door. _"Arthur, open the door, dammit_. _Open up right now!"_

After a few more seconds, Arthur quietly unlocked the door, stepping away to avoid taking a fist when it swung open. He was hiding a satisfied grin in response to the dirty look the ex-extractor shot him. Cobb's hands were balled up in fists at his sides and his nose was bright red.

"Made that too easy."

"Funny. I said you could barricade yourself at my house, not yours," he retorted.

"No, not barricade. Would I pick an apartment with only one entrance and exit?"

Cobb passed over the threshold, still tracking in some slush. Arthur noticed that he was rubbing his arm.

"No, I supposed you wouldn't. That's why you're so good at your job." He muttered something under his breath as he palmed his hair back into place. "I'll take this as a sign that you're feeling better."

Arthur shrugged, closing the door. "If you say so. It's what you get for locking me in my own car."

"Fair enough… Now, you were promised casseroles and cookies and pies, right?"

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~


	3. Epilogue

Epilogue

It was the first Monday of a new year, and he'd been more than ready to attack the remaining paperwork after his vacation in Los Angeles. Alone, the warm weather had been wonderful- not to mention that he was sure his pants were a little bit tighter around his waist. He'd brought home with him a new pair of cufflinks from Miles, a tortoise shell pocket knife from Cobb, some leftover chocolate walnut fudge that Mal's mother had made, and some Christmas artwork from James and Phillipa.

Arthur sat on his couch, hunched over his coffee table, flipping through the pile of paperwork that he had spread out before him. Everything that he was required to sign was just about in order, and ready to be sent off. The man he was paying quite handsomely to handle the business end of things knew that discretion about a paper trail would be important. For now at least, her house and everything in it would remain in his possession, under a separate alias from the one on his apartment. In a couple weeks, he would start looking for work again, but in the meantime, he planned on doing some catch up on any new penalties for dream sharers if they were caught on the illegal end of the business— by the civil authorities or otherwise.

_Hmm… What's this…?_

He'd picked up one of the manila envelopes on the coffee table. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it, but when he tipped the muted orange envelope upside down, a long, white envelope slid out onto the table. His name was scrawled out on the front in blue ink. There were two letters inside.

Arthur's eyes widened after he unfolded the first letter and read the first line.

_She kept it… his letter…_

He reached for the second letter and opened it. It was much shorter, and he knew immediately from the handwriting that it was from his grandmother.

_Arthur~_

_ I have kept this letter safe for you to read upon my passing. Truthfully, if you hadn't seen me take it from your father, I probably would not have hesitated to destroy it. Yes, I know about that._

Arthur shook his head. Like any kid, he'd been convinced that she'd had eyes in the back of her head.

_But, what I soon realized, Arthur, was that it wasn't up to me to decide what to do with the letter that is included in this envelope. You are a young man now, and I trust you to make the choice that is right for you._

_ Your loving grandmother,_

_ Lisabette Miller~_

Hand on his jaw, Arthur refolded his grandmother's letter before he picked up and started again on his father's letter. He drew in a deep breath and swallowed.

_Dear Arthur,_

_ I write this letter in the event that your grandparents do not allow me to see you in person, and I am guessing that is how things will go._

_ You were once a small boy, one who I left behind, and I understand that when you read this letter, you will be very angry at me because of that fact._

_ I am sorry for that, and I now also offer to you my condolences for the passing of your mother. I wish that I could've been there for the both of you during her cancer treatment… but what does that wishing really do besides create more pain?_

_ Son, the reason why I had to leave you two was because it was safer for you if I weren't around. I can't tell you more than that… maybe I can tell you when you are older if our paths cross, but just know that I love you, and I wish every day for everything to be different. I wish I were also better with words._

_ There I go again—wishing. It's a nice sentiment that just doesn't work._

_ If I had known the consequences of a number of the choices that I made in the past, I would have chosen differently._

_ If this letter has not been destroyed before it could be read by you, then my expectations for this message have been far exceeded._

_ Yours,_

_ Marc_

Arthur laid back into his couch, hands out at his sides, still holding the letter. His father was right; he was angry. Arthur's mind was whirling, jumping from one thought to the next. What had he meant by, "it was safer for you if I weren't around"? Did he have a violent streak, a drinking or drug problem? Arthur couldn't remember, but he didn't think so. Was it a gambling problem? Had he pissed off the wrong people? Had he tried to go straight, but it hadn't worked out? It was possible.

_Yes, it is very possible..._

Why had it taken his father an entire year to find out that his mother had died? Why bother initiating the attempt at contact in order to follow up on that tragedy at all? Why not just disappear and leave it at that when all you have is a half-assed explanation that nobody will ever believe?

_Heaven forbid that he's trying to bullshit the nine-year-old me. God help that man if he has a second family somewhere._

The person who had written the letter seemed no more real than a character in a fairy tale, even though Arthur knew he was out there somewhere in the world, breathing the same air, looking up at the same sun and stars.

_Not unless his "choices" have caught up with him, I suppose._

Standing up, Arthur refolded the paper and gripped it between his two hands. For a moment, he rocked his hands back and forth, as if to rip the letter down the center. He wondered if he had any matches or lighters in the apartment, but realized to his disappointment that it wasn't too often that he needed to light up a cigarette, candle, fireplace, or a barbecue grill. Would the garbage disposal or the toilet have the same satisfying effect?

"Asshole bastard…" he muttered. "Inconsiderate dumbass…What were you thinking?"

_He said it wasn't safe for him to be around us... I..._

"No." Arthur shook his head immediately, adamantly- as if pushing away the thought made it any less true. "I'm nothing like him," he reasoned to himself and his otherwise empty apartment. There was no excuse for leaving your wife and your kid without explanation.

Now he wasn't sure what to do as he stood there in the middle of his living room with the paper in his hands. Looking around, the bareness of the walls only added to his aggravation. He could at least make it look like someone lived there for more than a few weeks out of the year.

He exhaled through his nose. "I need to get some fucking paintings."

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

Arthur opened his eyes, turned his head on his pillow, and squinted in the green glow of his clock. It was almost five in the morning. He thought he had drifted off once or twice, but he didn't trust that judgment. His mind was cloudy, and he felt like he'd spent a solid day trying to find cover in the middle of no man's land on a battlefield.

Ultimately, he had decided not to destroy the letter. For now, it would remain at the bottom of the safe in the back of his closet. The more he had thought about it, the more it had bothered him, beyond the fact that it had been written by a man who had ducked out of his life when he was four years old— even if that man was a lying sack of shit, that didn't matter.

_I enjoy my work, but… What if I wanted to… if the opportunity or time ever came… Am I doomed to stay with the dream-share until I die? Will I be able to have a family? How many prices are on my head—how many are there that I don't even know about? Have I crossed too many lines? How many of my choices are going to haunt me?_

He didn't have an answer. And there would be no answer until the day came that he turned away from the life he led. He was grateful that Cobb had been able to get out, and he was gonna make sure that it damn-well stayed that way… but, where did that leave him?

_Nobody thinks about this stuff until it's too late._

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~_  
_

**End**

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